25 June 901
This had become my nightly habit.
As the world slept, then would I be most wakeful…and watchful. The modest chill caressed me – even on these fair summer nights. The cool darkness held me as faithfully as a lover. The stars shimmered clearly in the heavens, as I breathed in the damp air and made my way through the darkened garden to the edge of the forest. High atop an ancient birch, an owl screeched, flapped his wings, and launched into flight. I watched in reverent awe as he soared upward, his shadow stealing across the face of the moon.
Each night had I stood here, reveling in my quiet isolation…as one with the gloomy silence. Only in this time, it seemed, was my mind free to wander out – blessedly released from the unrelenting matters of the realm and the Alliance. My mind was freed to seek out the spirits of my ancestors…that I might gain their counsel in these most troubling times. And in my liberated state, I could close my eyes and hear Father’s voice…see Mother’s smile; and draw from them confidence to fight another day…and then one more beyond that. For all of this, did I cherish these quiet moments.
A twig snapped, the loud report of it echoing in the darkness of the forest. I shifted my gaze in the direction of the sound, seeing only the white flash of a deer’s hindquarters disappearing into a thick stand of trees. I followed, as the deer bounded under the cover of the wood. I knew this part of the forest well enough to anticipate the deer’s direction. The full moon pierced the canopy above with shafts of light, and the path shone clearly before me. I spotted again the white tail of the animal as it leapt over a hedge and vanished into the darkness. Continuing on, I entered the fairy wood and picked my way through delicate mushrooms and periwinkle to the center of a glade…and found myself suddenly bathed by the moonlight. A night bird sang in the distance. A breeze rustled fallen leaves at my feet. I closed my eyes and raised my face to the night sky; spread my arms out widely, like wings of a giant swan readying for flight; and began to spin in a simple, rhythmic dance in harmony with the chirruping bird. My soul found its quiet, restful peace.
Suddenly, the bird's song went silent. I froze, feeling something…a new presence in the forest beside me. My eyes searched the darkness at the edge of the glade; and quickly fixed on the towering form of some creature hidden in the shadows. I stepped back, guarded but not fearful. The earth moved in a slow, rolling rumble as a great, rust-colored dragon emerged and advanced warily into the open. His veined wings dragged the ground as they folded behind him. His scales glittered coldly in the pale light.
"Darius", I whispered; the words finding my lips while the realization of it still formed in my mind. With a low growl, he drew in a long deep breath and then exhaled. Heat moved the air around me; and I felt the fine strands of my hair flying about my shoulders. The acrid scent of smoke hung in the air.
I could feel him near, as always – even when he appeared, as now, in his true and most ancient form. It seemed he had been ever here, looking after me…even in his absence all these many years. His sudden appearance was, therefore, not a surprise to me. I knew he would one day return; and here, at long last, it was so. But something was wrong…terribly wrong. The normal golden-bronze glow of his scales had gone to an ashen grey. And I could see, in the moonlight, the ooze of fresh dragon blood glistening in his many wounds. I watched, in deep concern, as he raised his huge head and let loose a deafening roar. Flame and smoke leapt from his open jaws, and he bared his jagged teeth. I stood my ground as my dread washed over me – not from fear of him, but for fear of his condition and what it might portend. He quieted, and tilted his head to hold my gaze. His forelegs quavered as he fought to support his own weight, and the tip of his tail thumped heavily upon the ground. He struggled to speak, saying only “A promise, once given…may ne’er be taken back.” And with that, his lidless eyes went black and he fell insensate to the earth before me.
Each night had I stood here, reveling in my quiet isolation…as one with the gloomy silence. Only in this time, it seemed, was my mind free to wander out – blessedly released from the unrelenting matters of the realm and the Alliance. My mind was freed to seek out the spirits of my ancestors…that I might gain their counsel in these most troubling times. And in my liberated state, I could close my eyes and hear Father’s voice…see Mother’s smile; and draw from them confidence to fight another day…and then one more beyond that. For all of this, did I cherish these quiet moments.
A twig snapped, the loud report of it echoing in the darkness of the forest. I shifted my gaze in the direction of the sound, seeing only the white flash of a deer’s hindquarters disappearing into a thick stand of trees. I followed, as the deer bounded under the cover of the wood. I knew this part of the forest well enough to anticipate the deer’s direction. The full moon pierced the canopy above with shafts of light, and the path shone clearly before me. I spotted again the white tail of the animal as it leapt over a hedge and vanished into the darkness. Continuing on, I entered the fairy wood and picked my way through delicate mushrooms and periwinkle to the center of a glade…and found myself suddenly bathed by the moonlight. A night bird sang in the distance. A breeze rustled fallen leaves at my feet. I closed my eyes and raised my face to the night sky; spread my arms out widely, like wings of a giant swan readying for flight; and began to spin in a simple, rhythmic dance in harmony with the chirruping bird. My soul found its quiet, restful peace.
Suddenly, the bird's song went silent. I froze, feeling something…a new presence in the forest beside me. My eyes searched the darkness at the edge of the glade; and quickly fixed on the towering form of some creature hidden in the shadows. I stepped back, guarded but not fearful. The earth moved in a slow, rolling rumble as a great, rust-colored dragon emerged and advanced warily into the open. His veined wings dragged the ground as they folded behind him. His scales glittered coldly in the pale light.
"Darius", I whispered; the words finding my lips while the realization of it still formed in my mind. With a low growl, he drew in a long deep breath and then exhaled. Heat moved the air around me; and I felt the fine strands of my hair flying about my shoulders. The acrid scent of smoke hung in the air.
I could feel him near, as always – even when he appeared, as now, in his true and most ancient form. It seemed he had been ever here, looking after me…even in his absence all these many years. His sudden appearance was, therefore, not a surprise to me. I knew he would one day return; and here, at long last, it was so. But something was wrong…terribly wrong. The normal golden-bronze glow of his scales had gone to an ashen grey. And I could see, in the moonlight, the ooze of fresh dragon blood glistening in his many wounds. I watched, in deep concern, as he raised his huge head and let loose a deafening roar. Flame and smoke leapt from his open jaws, and he bared his jagged teeth. I stood my ground as my dread washed over me – not from fear of him, but for fear of his condition and what it might portend. He quieted, and tilted his head to hold my gaze. His forelegs quavered as he fought to support his own weight, and the tip of his tail thumped heavily upon the ground. He struggled to speak, saying only “A promise, once given…may ne’er be taken back.” And with that, his lidless eyes went black and he fell insensate to the earth before me.
*********************
24 July 901
I sat quietly in the chair beside his bed in the dimly lit chamber – my place of vigil from the day of Darius’ return, and his fall. I thought back on the tumult surrounding that day – watching him crash to the ground in his dragon form, and then transform into his human self, lying there bloodied and beaten…calling for aid, to bear him away to a place of care…urgently sending for Ivy and all of the healers within a few days’ travel of this spot. I watched as they attended to my profoundly wounded Guardian with the greatest care…struggling to understand how their healing arts might apply to one of such a unique heritage. So still did he lie there, seemingly lifeless, that one might be sure he had passed to the other side were it not for the scarcely discernible breaths that he drew. It was a week before he stirred; and a week longer still before he opened his eyes and croaked out a request for water.
That was but a fortnight ago; and now he slowly regained his strength. As he did so, he told me his story – a tale that covered 176 years from his departure on my coronation day. For several days, I sat in captive fascination as he relived his travels…and his trials. Much of the story I knew, including his suffering at the hand of Gormackh at the dragon court. Yet, I listened patiently as he told each story, knowing that only in doing so might he free himself of their grip. When he reached the point of the escape from the aerie, and his battle with Malfeus, his voice became a flat monotone – losing lost all sense of life – just as one might expect of a person living in shock at some personal horror they have endured.
“I fought with Malfeus, and we fell and fell, from that great height…locked in mortal combat from the pinnacle to the very ground. We crashed into the earth, hard…and all went black for some long time. When I woke, I was in human form…bound and naked, and hanging by my feet from the branch of a great oak. What had awakened me was the prodding of a stick; but it was not Malfeus who tormented me. It was yet another of my wretched “brothers”, whom I later came to know as Aerabat Black. Aerabat was badly deformed, standing in the body of a man but with withered dragon forelegs where his arms should have been. His upper body was wiry, leathered…and tipped by clawed hands. He howled and scampered about, drooling madly as he saw I had woken; and soon Malfeus and two others – who could only have been Sereg’wethrin – came running to see what was the fuss. Malfeus beamed to see I was awake, mocking and striking me. The others joined him, beating me until I lost consciousness once more. This continued for many days, until I dared not stir to reveal my waking state. I hung there, silent as I could manage and trying to gather my wits to plan some method of escape. But, in their cruel ingenuity, they soon discovered my ploys and began to probe exposed areas of my skin with branches pulled from the fire, still glowing. I soon felt I could bear no more; and I welcomed the prospect of imminent death.”
“But then, I remembered…the promise.”
I silently wiped away tears, out of his view, as he continued. He went on to describe waking – at what point he did not know, for time had lost all meaning – to hear the group of four in conversation about their evening fire. He heard Malfeus declare the plan – to bear him back to Nargoroth, who would decide what methods might be best to glean what they might about the Elven Queen and her alliances. In this, he was not surprised…he had expected that the Shadow Lord would himself deal with his wayward protégé – and in as cruel a fashion as he might conceive. But it was the next information that truly chilled him, and steeled his resolve to escape this imprisonment and stay them from the achievement of their plan. For he learned that these four, and seven others – all those that remained of his unholy brethren – had been given one grim mission: to find all of the women descended from the line of Meleanil, and deliver them to their Master. They knew this must be done at all costs, even at peril of their own lives – and they knew those lives were forfeit if they failed him. The cruel, mocking laughter of Malfeus – and his brazen words about bringing the Elven Queen to heel before his Master – sparked a burning fury deep within Darius’ heart. He knew then, without doubt, that he would see this foul plan laid bare, or breathe his last in that cause.
It was then that a Fate, unforeseen by all, chose to play its hand. It seemed, by chance, that the forest about them was a faerie wood; and his captors slowly realized that they were not alone. At first, it was random sound – not unlike the twittering of birds; though if one listened closely, it became evident that it was the sound of feminine laughter. By day, it was subdued; but each night the faerie song became more clearly pronounced. Soon after, the fae appeared at the edge of the fire – at least a dozen of them dancing and singing just beyond the reach of the flickering orange and yellow firelight. Closer still they came, tempting and tormenting the Sereg’wethrin who found they could not much longer deny the instincts of man that lived in their half-breed bodies. So enchanted did the men become that they began to ignore their prisoner – a blessing in itself, even if no others were to came. The seduction continued, with the fae somehow evading the amorous pursuits of these suddenly stumbling men. More and more, the men were drawn away from the fire…the distance between them growing with each passing hour as each pursued his hopeless quest of the serenading faerie maidens.
As this mad, almost comic scene unfolded, Darius had grappled with his bindings. His energies caused him to sway at the end of his suspension rope; and he was soon soaked in a cold sweat for all his efforts. But these were expert knots that bound him tighter still for his exertions, as if the strands of the rope were themselves bewitched. He felt the sour taste of despair in his mouth; and began to struggle frantically – as if by brute force he might break free. His frenzied efforts propelled him about – and he began to swing violently in the air. But as he spun about, he suddenly spied – leaning casually against the trunk of the large oak – a diminutive faerie with lustrous brown hair and flashing, blue eyes watching him flail about in his vain efforts at escape. She stood there, observing him with a smirk; wrapped in a fine gown of amber and burgundy and crowned primly with a tiara of fine-spun gold. She held his eye boldly as he stopped his struggles, surprised by her sudden appearance.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you”, she said, her grin growing into a mocking sneer.
“Oh, wouldn’t you?” he growled. “Have a lot of experience being bound and hung from trees, do you?” He looked quickly about upon this outburst, fearful he would be heard…but the diversion of his captors by the other faerie maidens remained complete.
She merely shrugged, and plopped down into a most unladylike crouch at the base of the tree. “Suit yourself then, big old bear…and do let me know when you are ready for some help”. She held out the flat of her hand, suddenly infatuated with the fireflies circling about. Darius watched in growing frustration as one of the glowing bugs set down upon her hand and shimmered brightly, eliciting a squeal of delight from this tiny fae.
In exasperation, he spoke to her sharply, angrily biting off the words: “Tell me then, my fine Lady Bug…I suppose you have some kind of pixie dust or magic potion you can use to free me? Or some other such Fae trickery to somehow loose these bonds?”
She looked up, smiling so sweetly he felt a sudden urge to scream. “Not so much”, she said. “But I do have this, if you think it might help.” At that, she reached deep within her cloak and pulled out a long, thin dagger whose polished, silver blade glistened in the moonlight. He watched in amazement and wonder as she leapt suddenly to her feet, prancing about lightly while making exaggerated thrusts of the blade at a host of imagined attackers. She then flew lightly into the air, and landed with startling grace below him; her eyes level with his and a mere half meter away.
“What say you, Bear? Need my help now?” she taunted; and Darius merely closed his eyes and nodded feebly before muttering “Yes, and quickly please. I do not expect my brothers’ bewitchment to long delay them.”
Within a minute, he was free; falling indelicately to the ground and waiting to regain his wind before rising to a crouch beside the Lady – who stooped, ready, in a mockingly similar posture. “Are we going to take them down, now? Which one first?” she asked, excitedly. He merely looked at her, extending his hand for the knife and smiling gently. “You have done what you may for me, dear Fae. The work ahead is mine.”
She pulled back, withholding the dagger from his grasp; and glared at him sharply, showing her distaste. “Find your own weapon, you big brute!” she yelled, her face red and her eyes wide and fierce. “D’you think that because the fighter is small that the blade will have less bite? That only a big, stumbling oaf of a man can fell such ruffians as these? If so, then you have much to learn about the fae of the Northern wood.” She stepped forward, fists clenched by her side…the right still clutching the dagger. Her posture was upright, and tall; and her chest puffed out in a display of boldness. She thrust her face upward, as if to go nose-to-nose with him to make the point. But at this, her bravado ran ahead of her physical assets – for her face reached barely to his chest, and he had to crane his neck, straining to look down at her. While mildly amused and greatly impressed, he felt no urge to smile or question her.
“It seems the fae of the Northern wood are brave indeed…yet here we face a dilemma. My captors will return anon…I deem I hear bootsteps even now. And I, as yet, have no weapon with which to greet them. So I beseech you, dear Lady – loan me this fair and noble blade to take care of the first, and hold yourself in reserve should it go badly for me. We can preserve at least some element of surprise, and I think it will serve us well. But pray, act quickly ‘fore the day is lost!”
She looked at him…and the dagger…disappointed and hurt by this proposal. Then, she sighed and surrendered the blade and turned to seek the cover of the forest edge. He thanked her, then signaled for her silence and pointed toward the wood. She went, reluctantly, and disappeared inside the deepening shadows of the wood as the sound of heavy footfalls grew.
He would say little of what happened next; but enough that I could get the picture. One after the other, his captors wandered in to check on his condition. As the first two did so, he took them quickly – the slender dagger finding their throats before they could even react to the violent surprise of his attack. They died on the spot, in silence; and Darius dragged their still bodies under the cover of the wood. He crouched to rest, and found the fae beside him. As he readied for the arrival of his remaining assailants, he turned to her, smiling kindly, and asked: “How came you to have this dagger that you wield so bravely? I though the fae were all about laughter and granting wishes and other nice things…and not so well known for their weapons…not to mention heroic rescue of warriors in need?”
She looked back at him, her face an impish mask; and she shrugged and said: “Shows what you know, don’t it?” And just then, the third of his enemies arrived.
This one was Aerabat Black, who, to Darius’ great surprise, reacted with much greater speed and strength than had been anticipated. Before he could be silenced, Black let out a warning yelp that brought Malfeus on the run; and he fought with that peculiar, cold fury Darius knew well – the desperation of a man facing death, but with no real desire to yield to it. The issue might well have been decided in Black’s favor – but just as he sought to press his advantage, a sudden confusion…and brief paralysis…seemed to seize him. He froze just long enough for Darius to regain his balance, and thrust the blade upward in a great, swinging arc – directly into the soft tissue beneath the breastbone and on up into the heart. He fell hard, and Darius staggered back. He glanced as the tiny fae; and saw her smiling brightly – telling him at once that faerie magic had given him the time he needed to turn the tide of battle. He nodded his acknowledgment; and saw her clear, self-satisfied smile in return.
He returned to the clearing just as Malfeus burst into the open, his eyes glittering with violent anger. But upon seeeing what had happened, and the glow of hatred burning in my Guardian’s enraged eyes, Malfeus abruptly turned on his heels and fled. Darius felt his strength ebbing and – too weak to pursue – fell to his knees, and then prone upon his face; and he knew no more that day.
That was but a fortnight ago; and now he slowly regained his strength. As he did so, he told me his story – a tale that covered 176 years from his departure on my coronation day. For several days, I sat in captive fascination as he relived his travels…and his trials. Much of the story I knew, including his suffering at the hand of Gormackh at the dragon court. Yet, I listened patiently as he told each story, knowing that only in doing so might he free himself of their grip. When he reached the point of the escape from the aerie, and his battle with Malfeus, his voice became a flat monotone – losing lost all sense of life – just as one might expect of a person living in shock at some personal horror they have endured.
“I fought with Malfeus, and we fell and fell, from that great height…locked in mortal combat from the pinnacle to the very ground. We crashed into the earth, hard…and all went black for some long time. When I woke, I was in human form…bound and naked, and hanging by my feet from the branch of a great oak. What had awakened me was the prodding of a stick; but it was not Malfeus who tormented me. It was yet another of my wretched “brothers”, whom I later came to know as Aerabat Black. Aerabat was badly deformed, standing in the body of a man but with withered dragon forelegs where his arms should have been. His upper body was wiry, leathered…and tipped by clawed hands. He howled and scampered about, drooling madly as he saw I had woken; and soon Malfeus and two others – who could only have been Sereg’wethrin – came running to see what was the fuss. Malfeus beamed to see I was awake, mocking and striking me. The others joined him, beating me until I lost consciousness once more. This continued for many days, until I dared not stir to reveal my waking state. I hung there, silent as I could manage and trying to gather my wits to plan some method of escape. But, in their cruel ingenuity, they soon discovered my ploys and began to probe exposed areas of my skin with branches pulled from the fire, still glowing. I soon felt I could bear no more; and I welcomed the prospect of imminent death.”
“But then, I remembered…the promise.”
I silently wiped away tears, out of his view, as he continued. He went on to describe waking – at what point he did not know, for time had lost all meaning – to hear the group of four in conversation about their evening fire. He heard Malfeus declare the plan – to bear him back to Nargoroth, who would decide what methods might be best to glean what they might about the Elven Queen and her alliances. In this, he was not surprised…he had expected that the Shadow Lord would himself deal with his wayward protégé – and in as cruel a fashion as he might conceive. But it was the next information that truly chilled him, and steeled his resolve to escape this imprisonment and stay them from the achievement of their plan. For he learned that these four, and seven others – all those that remained of his unholy brethren – had been given one grim mission: to find all of the women descended from the line of Meleanil, and deliver them to their Master. They knew this must be done at all costs, even at peril of their own lives – and they knew those lives were forfeit if they failed him. The cruel, mocking laughter of Malfeus – and his brazen words about bringing the Elven Queen to heel before his Master – sparked a burning fury deep within Darius’ heart. He knew then, without doubt, that he would see this foul plan laid bare, or breathe his last in that cause.
It was then that a Fate, unforeseen by all, chose to play its hand. It seemed, by chance, that the forest about them was a faerie wood; and his captors slowly realized that they were not alone. At first, it was random sound – not unlike the twittering of birds; though if one listened closely, it became evident that it was the sound of feminine laughter. By day, it was subdued; but each night the faerie song became more clearly pronounced. Soon after, the fae appeared at the edge of the fire – at least a dozen of them dancing and singing just beyond the reach of the flickering orange and yellow firelight. Closer still they came, tempting and tormenting the Sereg’wethrin who found they could not much longer deny the instincts of man that lived in their half-breed bodies. So enchanted did the men become that they began to ignore their prisoner – a blessing in itself, even if no others were to came. The seduction continued, with the fae somehow evading the amorous pursuits of these suddenly stumbling men. More and more, the men were drawn away from the fire…the distance between them growing with each passing hour as each pursued his hopeless quest of the serenading faerie maidens.
As this mad, almost comic scene unfolded, Darius had grappled with his bindings. His energies caused him to sway at the end of his suspension rope; and he was soon soaked in a cold sweat for all his efforts. But these were expert knots that bound him tighter still for his exertions, as if the strands of the rope were themselves bewitched. He felt the sour taste of despair in his mouth; and began to struggle frantically – as if by brute force he might break free. His frenzied efforts propelled him about – and he began to swing violently in the air. But as he spun about, he suddenly spied – leaning casually against the trunk of the large oak – a diminutive faerie with lustrous brown hair and flashing, blue eyes watching him flail about in his vain efforts at escape. She stood there, observing him with a smirk; wrapped in a fine gown of amber and burgundy and crowned primly with a tiara of fine-spun gold. She held his eye boldly as he stopped his struggles, surprised by her sudden appearance.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you”, she said, her grin growing into a mocking sneer.
“Oh, wouldn’t you?” he growled. “Have a lot of experience being bound and hung from trees, do you?” He looked quickly about upon this outburst, fearful he would be heard…but the diversion of his captors by the other faerie maidens remained complete.
She merely shrugged, and plopped down into a most unladylike crouch at the base of the tree. “Suit yourself then, big old bear…and do let me know when you are ready for some help”. She held out the flat of her hand, suddenly infatuated with the fireflies circling about. Darius watched in growing frustration as one of the glowing bugs set down upon her hand and shimmered brightly, eliciting a squeal of delight from this tiny fae.
In exasperation, he spoke to her sharply, angrily biting off the words: “Tell me then, my fine Lady Bug…I suppose you have some kind of pixie dust or magic potion you can use to free me? Or some other such Fae trickery to somehow loose these bonds?”
She looked up, smiling so sweetly he felt a sudden urge to scream. “Not so much”, she said. “But I do have this, if you think it might help.” At that, she reached deep within her cloak and pulled out a long, thin dagger whose polished, silver blade glistened in the moonlight. He watched in amazement and wonder as she leapt suddenly to her feet, prancing about lightly while making exaggerated thrusts of the blade at a host of imagined attackers. She then flew lightly into the air, and landed with startling grace below him; her eyes level with his and a mere half meter away.
“What say you, Bear? Need my help now?” she taunted; and Darius merely closed his eyes and nodded feebly before muttering “Yes, and quickly please. I do not expect my brothers’ bewitchment to long delay them.”
Within a minute, he was free; falling indelicately to the ground and waiting to regain his wind before rising to a crouch beside the Lady – who stooped, ready, in a mockingly similar posture. “Are we going to take them down, now? Which one first?” she asked, excitedly. He merely looked at her, extending his hand for the knife and smiling gently. “You have done what you may for me, dear Fae. The work ahead is mine.”
She pulled back, withholding the dagger from his grasp; and glared at him sharply, showing her distaste. “Find your own weapon, you big brute!” she yelled, her face red and her eyes wide and fierce. “D’you think that because the fighter is small that the blade will have less bite? That only a big, stumbling oaf of a man can fell such ruffians as these? If so, then you have much to learn about the fae of the Northern wood.” She stepped forward, fists clenched by her side…the right still clutching the dagger. Her posture was upright, and tall; and her chest puffed out in a display of boldness. She thrust her face upward, as if to go nose-to-nose with him to make the point. But at this, her bravado ran ahead of her physical assets – for her face reached barely to his chest, and he had to crane his neck, straining to look down at her. While mildly amused and greatly impressed, he felt no urge to smile or question her.
“It seems the fae of the Northern wood are brave indeed…yet here we face a dilemma. My captors will return anon…I deem I hear bootsteps even now. And I, as yet, have no weapon with which to greet them. So I beseech you, dear Lady – loan me this fair and noble blade to take care of the first, and hold yourself in reserve should it go badly for me. We can preserve at least some element of surprise, and I think it will serve us well. But pray, act quickly ‘fore the day is lost!”
She looked at him…and the dagger…disappointed and hurt by this proposal. Then, she sighed and surrendered the blade and turned to seek the cover of the forest edge. He thanked her, then signaled for her silence and pointed toward the wood. She went, reluctantly, and disappeared inside the deepening shadows of the wood as the sound of heavy footfalls grew.
He would say little of what happened next; but enough that I could get the picture. One after the other, his captors wandered in to check on his condition. As the first two did so, he took them quickly – the slender dagger finding their throats before they could even react to the violent surprise of his attack. They died on the spot, in silence; and Darius dragged their still bodies under the cover of the wood. He crouched to rest, and found the fae beside him. As he readied for the arrival of his remaining assailants, he turned to her, smiling kindly, and asked: “How came you to have this dagger that you wield so bravely? I though the fae were all about laughter and granting wishes and other nice things…and not so well known for their weapons…not to mention heroic rescue of warriors in need?”
She looked back at him, her face an impish mask; and she shrugged and said: “Shows what you know, don’t it?” And just then, the third of his enemies arrived.
This one was Aerabat Black, who, to Darius’ great surprise, reacted with much greater speed and strength than had been anticipated. Before he could be silenced, Black let out a warning yelp that brought Malfeus on the run; and he fought with that peculiar, cold fury Darius knew well – the desperation of a man facing death, but with no real desire to yield to it. The issue might well have been decided in Black’s favor – but just as he sought to press his advantage, a sudden confusion…and brief paralysis…seemed to seize him. He froze just long enough for Darius to regain his balance, and thrust the blade upward in a great, swinging arc – directly into the soft tissue beneath the breastbone and on up into the heart. He fell hard, and Darius staggered back. He glanced as the tiny fae; and saw her smiling brightly – telling him at once that faerie magic had given him the time he needed to turn the tide of battle. He nodded his acknowledgment; and saw her clear, self-satisfied smile in return.
He returned to the clearing just as Malfeus burst into the open, his eyes glittering with violent anger. But upon seeeing what had happened, and the glow of hatred burning in my Guardian’s enraged eyes, Malfeus abruptly turned on his heels and fled. Darius felt his strength ebbing and – too weak to pursue – fell to his knees, and then prone upon his face; and he knew no more that day.
*********************
When Darius next opened his eyes, he found himself in a tiny room that appeared to be the inside of a small thatched cottage. He was stretched across a tiny bed – or, more accurately, across a normal sized bed that was far too small for his outsized frame. He lay there quietly, trying to recover his bearings. As he did so, he heard a small, trilling voice that demanded: “Well then, feel free to get on up off my bed any time you think you are ready, big clumsy bear.” He pushed himself up on his elbows, and had to stifle a laugh as he saw her standing there with her feet planted and her fists pressed into her hips. It was, of course, the same feisty little fae who had come to his rescue with her dagger. “You are a fierce little bug, and bossy to boot! But it seems that I will be forever in your debt for the services you have paid me. For that, I am quite thankful.” He smiled as she harrumphed dramatically and turned; but not before he saw her color bashfully in her embarrassment at his kind words. “Well, you are welcome to stay until you are mended”, she proclaimed; “as long as you can keep out of my way and do as little to annoy me as your brutish faculties allow!”
So ended the second meeting of Lord Darius and Lady Evangeline who, Darius learned to his surprise and eminent satisfaction, was the niece of Rowenna d’Noir – the heroic fae so beloved of Eyrturheru and Linnea. In the years that followed, the two became uncommonly close – as if Darius had found, for the first time, a long lost sister. He stayed long in the cottage in the faerie wood, healing his wounds; regaining his strength; and considering his strategems from that point forward. And he endured only an occasional, good-natured grousing from his beloved sister about the big, clumsy bear suddenly living in her midst.
So ended the second meeting of Lord Darius and Lady Evangeline who, Darius learned to his surprise and eminent satisfaction, was the niece of Rowenna d’Noir – the heroic fae so beloved of Eyrturheru and Linnea. In the years that followed, the two became uncommonly close – as if Darius had found, for the first time, a long lost sister. He stayed long in the cottage in the faerie wood, healing his wounds; regaining his strength; and considering his strategems from that point forward. And he endured only an occasional, good-natured grousing from his beloved sister about the big, clumsy bear suddenly living in her midst.
**************************
25 July 901
“It seemed to me, then, that I faced the most difficult choices imaginable, my Queen”, Darius said, fixing me with piercing eyes as he sat, restless, in the large bed in his chambers. “My instincts told me to come to you as quickly as I could…to warn of the threat posed by the Sereg’wethrin…to do what I might to keep you from harm. But I was wary of the frailty of that plan – fearing that I might, inadvertently, lead them directly to you; worried that going on the defensive would render weak what ought to be our strengths. I pondered the question for several months, trying to determine what to do – and working to heal my wounds and muster my strength for what lay ahead. And then, unlooked for, the answer came to me.”
“I was hunting…stalking a deer in the forest near Evangeline’s cottage. I came upon a beautiful, well-antlered buck; and I stood, admiring him as he stared at me with those large black eyes, even as I drew the arrow upon my bow. There was a nobility there that nearly stayed my hand; and then I looked at him and knew – as I think he did – that this was but part of the natural cycle of life; and that there was honor in this, for both hunter and game. I took him cleanly and dressed him on the spot; and bore the meat back to the cottage for salting and stew. When I arrived there, rather than being elated at our good fortune, my sister merely shrugged it off saying ‘You are a hunter. You hunt. This is not such a great mystery, Bear.’ ”
“Her words hit me with the force of a blow. I am the hunter. I hunt. It was the purpose for which I was born…the reason for my existence in the wretched vision of my former Master. But our unique circumstances, from the time Eyrturheru charged me to protect his daughter, as Guardian, led me to path of evasion from those who would hunt my Queen. We had become the hunted. But now, it came to me with searing clarity that I must once more be what I ever was: I would become the hunter.”
“And so it began, dear Comet. Of necessity, I returned to a life I had fought so hard to leave behind. From that day on, I spent every waking hour tracking down each of my remaining eight brothers – the very assassins who would be the greatest risk to you, to Ivy, to the others. I was not subtle. I wanted them to know, to feel what it was to be preyed upon relentlessly. I found the first, Carrakh, at the edge of Greatwood – close to the clearing where we were once attacked by the wolves. He seemed surprised at my appearance – knowing not if I was brother and friend, or some grave threat. He took that question to the afterlife, as I dispatched him with a single thrust of my dagger.” Darius hesitated, his eyes wandering out through the window and past the far horizon as he probed some distant memory. “I knew”, he continued, “that this first must be an example to send fear and wonder through their ranks. I am not…proud…of what I did. But I know that they who came upon that scene would have little doubt about what had been done there…or who had done it. From that day on, I was hated…feared…and sought after with a vengeance perhaps never before seen in these parts of the world.”
For the next several hours, Darius told me more stories of his life over the intervening years. He lived where he could – often in the wild, or stealing sleep and meals in the shadowy places of larger cities, or the outskirts of smaller hamlets. His ears were sharp, and he learned much about the agents of the Shadow Lord. He often used bribes, or strong drink, to ply the tongues of the citizens; and sooner or later would uncover enough to track down a specific target. When he did find his quarry, he would study his most intimate habits, patiently, in order to find a weakness or vulnerability. Sometimes he got lucky, and the entire process could be done in just a few months; more often it was years.
In some few cases, the kill was made by stealth…his victim taken unaware from behind, and dispatched with the quick work of his knife. More often, his prey was subdued only after fierce, personal battles. Several of his would-be brothers died in brutal combat by his bare hands…fierce struggles that might as easily have seen the outcome reversed. Over the decades that followed, he suffered grievous injuries – dagger and sword wounds; heavy blows struck by clubs or blunt objects; and more than once, trauma caused by arrows finding their mark in his torso or limbs. Each time, he made his way back to the faerie wood, to Evangeline, to restore himself before renewing the hunt.
Malfeus was the last, and intentionally so; and fell only a few days before Darius appeared in my garden. By the time Darius decided to move, all hope of stealth or surprise had fled. The Shadow forces knew well, and feared greatly, this mad and traitorous half-dragon who stalked them; who took, too often, the best of their men despite all efforts to bring him down. Malfeus had become little more than a prisoner in one of the strongholds of the Shadow force, at Erebos. He was protected by an elite force of well-trained Shadow Warriors…but it was no matter. After all of the many years, both the hunter and the hunted had tired of the game. Darius took dragon form, and assaulted the castle keep where Malfeus waited. And Malfeus, having also transformed, arranged an ambush to properly greet his disaffected brother. The ambush slowed, but could not stop Darius from this final confrontation; and when he broke through the defenses, the two great drakes took to the air in savage conflict. By beak and talon, the two fought a vicious battle to the last – each with a desperation driven by the knowledge that but one might live to see another dawn. The clash lasted for over seven hours…from the castle to the mountain peaks beyond, to the valley floors and back again to the heights. At the last, Darius threw down his brother, smashing his body against the craggy pinnacle of the ridge below them. He watched, circling above, as the fallen dragon took human form one last time, its broken body laid at last to rest upon the stone. Darius turned in the air, with no great joy at having brought his cruel mission to an end, with such grisly finality…and flew off to find his home, wherever it might be.
I listened in silence as he completed his tale. Many questions ran through my head, begging to be spoken…but still I stayed mute. This was a time for the healing to begin; for my beloved Guardian to find his rest. I leaned in close, my hand touching his face gently…as if it might somehow take away some of the pain I saw there. “Do you understand why, Darius? Why you survived all of this, against such overwhelming odds? How it is that you survive still, when so many times you have had to look death in the eye?”
He looked away, shaking his head; and mumbled softly “It seems the Fates have other designs for me yet…that my trials are not yet done, and that more may yet be asked of me, in penance for all of my deeds. I…do…not…know, Comet. I do not know.”
“There is a legend, Darius”, I said. “A long tale called ‘The Three Graces’. Perhaps you know of it…certainly, you should. For it explains much of what you have lived through, and why. In that story, the protagonist goes through many great trials; and through them, discovers the Three Graces – virtues that give him the strength to endure all the challenges he must face. In his case, as in yours, there was no active search for some missing virtue, or some source of strength that was lacking. The discoveries came unexpected, and only became clear in hindsight, much later, as he reflected on the true value of a life well-lived in the service of others. Do you know the tale? Or can you imagine what the Three Graces are, and what they teach?”
He shook his head slowly…almost imperceptibly; so I continued on in a gentle voice. “The First Grace is to open one’s heart to love – to allow others to touch you and know, often for the first time, that you are not alone in the world…that you are a part of something larger. That is the virtue you learned from Mother, when you opened your heart to the grace of her love.”
I went on, despite the vacant look in his eyes, recognizing as so many time before that he had turned inward, and was now seeing images none other might share. “The Second Grace is mercy – knowing that, while you have a power, you need not use that power to harm another. It was mercy that stayed your hand from taking Father’s life – the first time, I think, that such a virtue had ever moved you. The Third Grace, beloved Darius, is devotion – giving selflessly all that you might for the love of another. Father appointed you my Guardian; but your true and complete devotion to me was a matter of your own choosing. In all of these, Darius, you chose what to do, which path to take…and you lived those choices without reserve. You found the truth of the Three Graces, dearest dragon; and it is your commitment to them that won the day in all your many trials. Malfeus and the others were powerful, and fey; but when they fought, it was fear that drove them. They stood for nothing…believed in nothing…and fought for nothing but their own, desperate survival. And that, I think, makes all the difference.”
I felt my voice breaking on this last, and the tears stinging my eyes. I thought, for a moment, that I saw his eyes welling wetly…and watched his lips move but fail to find words. I touched and held his hand and simply sat there in silence with him…and it was enough.
Some time later, the silence was broken by a raucous disturbance in the courtyard below the chamber window. The tumult grew louder and more chaotic – shouted sounds of alarm and calls for action echoing from the walls. I rose, and went to the window; and felt Darius rise to stand behind me. My blood ran cold and my breath left me as I saw the source of the furor in the courtyard below. A dark, inhuman figure stood in the middle of the square. It seemed nearly 3 meters tall, with massive wings extending from its ebony back, which looked as though armored in thick scales like those of a dragon. It stood its ground solidly, on massive hind legs anchored by cloven hooves. In its strong right arm was a thick broadsword; and its left held a struggling hostage close to its breast. I saw the flash of golden hair, and recognized at once my cousin, Elëanesse, daughter of Elëanil. I knew, beyond doubt, that this monster was Nargoroth – come in demon form to do what those appointed had failed to do.
Several drow and elven warriors lay bloodied and motionless near the monster’s feet. Others drew close, with bows drawn and arrows poised to fly; but they hesitated in fear of hitting Elëanesse; and what few had been unleashed seemed to have bounced harmlessly from the monster’s scaly hide. Their hesitation seemed all the Shadow Lord required, for with a great bounding leap he was aloft – the giant wings beating the air powerfully as he quickly ascended. I felt my heart sink as I watched them go – knowing well that the power of the Coia’lia went with them, and would now move within Nargoroth’s grasp. Now the arrows flew, but none found purchase as the pair rose unobstructed. It seemed little could be done to deny Nargoroth the prize we had long defended; and Myrrdin’s words of warning rang out anew in my ears. What hope would we have if he claims the Power?
Suddenly, I saw Darius spring forward and, calling upon some unfathomable reserve of strength, throw himself bodily through the open window. He somersaulted in midair; and landed on his feet in the stone courtyard 5 meters below. My first thought was that he would take flight in dragon form, pursuing the Shadow Lord in a desperate effort to bring him down. My heart fell at the hopelessness of the circumstance…and my mind refused to consider its consequences.
The next moments moved as if I were dreaming them; and dream them I ever shall as they lay seared within my memory. For Darius alone saw what must be done – the only action left to us to alter the tragedy unfolding before us. He turned to his right, where stood one of Carandon’s best archers; and grasped the bow and seated arrow that the archer held in readiness there. He looked up, taking careful aim at the receding forms of Nargoroth and Elëanesse…his gaze fixed, and his arm steady. The archer objected, saying: “Lord Darius…it is for naught. This beast’s scales defeat our arrows, and all that we might do is bring harm to the Lady.” But Darius held his aim, unmoved by the protest; and I saw, at once, what he meant to do. I closed my eyes…said a silent prayer for mercy…and slowly nodded my head in assent.
It was as if Darius saw my signal…though I knew he had not. He did what he must, in full knowledge of the damnable nature of the act…and its inevitability. He squinted, adjusted his aim…and unleashed the arrow at the fleeing demon and his prey. I watched it fly, with clarity afforded to only the far-seeing elves and dragons. Sight that was so often a blessing was now a curse; for I watched as the arrow flew straight and true to its mark. It took Elëanesse high upon her left breast, piercing the white linen blouse just below the neckline. I watched the sudden blossom of blood that covered her, and saw her slump within the demon’s steely grip. I averted my eyes, knowing that I had seen all I must; and that my eyes had told me that my beloved cousin had died both quickly and without pain – a blessing compared to the thousand deaths she might have endured in the custody of the Shadow Lord. I heard Nargoroth’s wild, enraged howl cover the distance to us; and thought, for a moment, that he might turn in his fury to strike at those who had deprived him of his prize. I glanced up, just in time to see him release his now lifeless burden; and watched her body fall, tumbling through the air toward the earth. The Shadow Lord hesitated, looked back…and then turned and flew off into the distance.
My eyes returned to the courtyard below. Darius stood, his shoulders slumping and his arms hanging slackly by his sides. The elven bow clattered to the ground. My Guardian turned and looked upward, at my window; and I felt a wave of sadness wash over me as I looked into his vacant, tormented eyes. I thought of the many times his eyes had looked upon me – ever watchful, protective; sometimes curious; always with warmth…occasionally, even, with mirth. How it saddened me to see them now.
His head sagged…the onyx hair hanging lankly over his face, shielding it from me. He turned, pushing forward through the stunned and silent crowd gathered there. I watched the assembly part as he neared, clearing a path – as if in reverence, or fear of being infected by whatever ailment held him. The mass of people closed behind him as he trudged away; and too soon he was lost from my sight.
“I was hunting…stalking a deer in the forest near Evangeline’s cottage. I came upon a beautiful, well-antlered buck; and I stood, admiring him as he stared at me with those large black eyes, even as I drew the arrow upon my bow. There was a nobility there that nearly stayed my hand; and then I looked at him and knew – as I think he did – that this was but part of the natural cycle of life; and that there was honor in this, for both hunter and game. I took him cleanly and dressed him on the spot; and bore the meat back to the cottage for salting and stew. When I arrived there, rather than being elated at our good fortune, my sister merely shrugged it off saying ‘You are a hunter. You hunt. This is not such a great mystery, Bear.’ ”
“Her words hit me with the force of a blow. I am the hunter. I hunt. It was the purpose for which I was born…the reason for my existence in the wretched vision of my former Master. But our unique circumstances, from the time Eyrturheru charged me to protect his daughter, as Guardian, led me to path of evasion from those who would hunt my Queen. We had become the hunted. But now, it came to me with searing clarity that I must once more be what I ever was: I would become the hunter.”
“And so it began, dear Comet. Of necessity, I returned to a life I had fought so hard to leave behind. From that day on, I spent every waking hour tracking down each of my remaining eight brothers – the very assassins who would be the greatest risk to you, to Ivy, to the others. I was not subtle. I wanted them to know, to feel what it was to be preyed upon relentlessly. I found the first, Carrakh, at the edge of Greatwood – close to the clearing where we were once attacked by the wolves. He seemed surprised at my appearance – knowing not if I was brother and friend, or some grave threat. He took that question to the afterlife, as I dispatched him with a single thrust of my dagger.” Darius hesitated, his eyes wandering out through the window and past the far horizon as he probed some distant memory. “I knew”, he continued, “that this first must be an example to send fear and wonder through their ranks. I am not…proud…of what I did. But I know that they who came upon that scene would have little doubt about what had been done there…or who had done it. From that day on, I was hated…feared…and sought after with a vengeance perhaps never before seen in these parts of the world.”
For the next several hours, Darius told me more stories of his life over the intervening years. He lived where he could – often in the wild, or stealing sleep and meals in the shadowy places of larger cities, or the outskirts of smaller hamlets. His ears were sharp, and he learned much about the agents of the Shadow Lord. He often used bribes, or strong drink, to ply the tongues of the citizens; and sooner or later would uncover enough to track down a specific target. When he did find his quarry, he would study his most intimate habits, patiently, in order to find a weakness or vulnerability. Sometimes he got lucky, and the entire process could be done in just a few months; more often it was years.
In some few cases, the kill was made by stealth…his victim taken unaware from behind, and dispatched with the quick work of his knife. More often, his prey was subdued only after fierce, personal battles. Several of his would-be brothers died in brutal combat by his bare hands…fierce struggles that might as easily have seen the outcome reversed. Over the decades that followed, he suffered grievous injuries – dagger and sword wounds; heavy blows struck by clubs or blunt objects; and more than once, trauma caused by arrows finding their mark in his torso or limbs. Each time, he made his way back to the faerie wood, to Evangeline, to restore himself before renewing the hunt.
Malfeus was the last, and intentionally so; and fell only a few days before Darius appeared in my garden. By the time Darius decided to move, all hope of stealth or surprise had fled. The Shadow forces knew well, and feared greatly, this mad and traitorous half-dragon who stalked them; who took, too often, the best of their men despite all efforts to bring him down. Malfeus had become little more than a prisoner in one of the strongholds of the Shadow force, at Erebos. He was protected by an elite force of well-trained Shadow Warriors…but it was no matter. After all of the many years, both the hunter and the hunted had tired of the game. Darius took dragon form, and assaulted the castle keep where Malfeus waited. And Malfeus, having also transformed, arranged an ambush to properly greet his disaffected brother. The ambush slowed, but could not stop Darius from this final confrontation; and when he broke through the defenses, the two great drakes took to the air in savage conflict. By beak and talon, the two fought a vicious battle to the last – each with a desperation driven by the knowledge that but one might live to see another dawn. The clash lasted for over seven hours…from the castle to the mountain peaks beyond, to the valley floors and back again to the heights. At the last, Darius threw down his brother, smashing his body against the craggy pinnacle of the ridge below them. He watched, circling above, as the fallen dragon took human form one last time, its broken body laid at last to rest upon the stone. Darius turned in the air, with no great joy at having brought his cruel mission to an end, with such grisly finality…and flew off to find his home, wherever it might be.
I listened in silence as he completed his tale. Many questions ran through my head, begging to be spoken…but still I stayed mute. This was a time for the healing to begin; for my beloved Guardian to find his rest. I leaned in close, my hand touching his face gently…as if it might somehow take away some of the pain I saw there. “Do you understand why, Darius? Why you survived all of this, against such overwhelming odds? How it is that you survive still, when so many times you have had to look death in the eye?”
He looked away, shaking his head; and mumbled softly “It seems the Fates have other designs for me yet…that my trials are not yet done, and that more may yet be asked of me, in penance for all of my deeds. I…do…not…know, Comet. I do not know.”
“There is a legend, Darius”, I said. “A long tale called ‘The Three Graces’. Perhaps you know of it…certainly, you should. For it explains much of what you have lived through, and why. In that story, the protagonist goes through many great trials; and through them, discovers the Three Graces – virtues that give him the strength to endure all the challenges he must face. In his case, as in yours, there was no active search for some missing virtue, or some source of strength that was lacking. The discoveries came unexpected, and only became clear in hindsight, much later, as he reflected on the true value of a life well-lived in the service of others. Do you know the tale? Or can you imagine what the Three Graces are, and what they teach?”
He shook his head slowly…almost imperceptibly; so I continued on in a gentle voice. “The First Grace is to open one’s heart to love – to allow others to touch you and know, often for the first time, that you are not alone in the world…that you are a part of something larger. That is the virtue you learned from Mother, when you opened your heart to the grace of her love.”
I went on, despite the vacant look in his eyes, recognizing as so many time before that he had turned inward, and was now seeing images none other might share. “The Second Grace is mercy – knowing that, while you have a power, you need not use that power to harm another. It was mercy that stayed your hand from taking Father’s life – the first time, I think, that such a virtue had ever moved you. The Third Grace, beloved Darius, is devotion – giving selflessly all that you might for the love of another. Father appointed you my Guardian; but your true and complete devotion to me was a matter of your own choosing. In all of these, Darius, you chose what to do, which path to take…and you lived those choices without reserve. You found the truth of the Three Graces, dearest dragon; and it is your commitment to them that won the day in all your many trials. Malfeus and the others were powerful, and fey; but when they fought, it was fear that drove them. They stood for nothing…believed in nothing…and fought for nothing but their own, desperate survival. And that, I think, makes all the difference.”
I felt my voice breaking on this last, and the tears stinging my eyes. I thought, for a moment, that I saw his eyes welling wetly…and watched his lips move but fail to find words. I touched and held his hand and simply sat there in silence with him…and it was enough.
Some time later, the silence was broken by a raucous disturbance in the courtyard below the chamber window. The tumult grew louder and more chaotic – shouted sounds of alarm and calls for action echoing from the walls. I rose, and went to the window; and felt Darius rise to stand behind me. My blood ran cold and my breath left me as I saw the source of the furor in the courtyard below. A dark, inhuman figure stood in the middle of the square. It seemed nearly 3 meters tall, with massive wings extending from its ebony back, which looked as though armored in thick scales like those of a dragon. It stood its ground solidly, on massive hind legs anchored by cloven hooves. In its strong right arm was a thick broadsword; and its left held a struggling hostage close to its breast. I saw the flash of golden hair, and recognized at once my cousin, Elëanesse, daughter of Elëanil. I knew, beyond doubt, that this monster was Nargoroth – come in demon form to do what those appointed had failed to do.
Several drow and elven warriors lay bloodied and motionless near the monster’s feet. Others drew close, with bows drawn and arrows poised to fly; but they hesitated in fear of hitting Elëanesse; and what few had been unleashed seemed to have bounced harmlessly from the monster’s scaly hide. Their hesitation seemed all the Shadow Lord required, for with a great bounding leap he was aloft – the giant wings beating the air powerfully as he quickly ascended. I felt my heart sink as I watched them go – knowing well that the power of the Coia’lia went with them, and would now move within Nargoroth’s grasp. Now the arrows flew, but none found purchase as the pair rose unobstructed. It seemed little could be done to deny Nargoroth the prize we had long defended; and Myrrdin’s words of warning rang out anew in my ears. What hope would we have if he claims the Power?
Suddenly, I saw Darius spring forward and, calling upon some unfathomable reserve of strength, throw himself bodily through the open window. He somersaulted in midair; and landed on his feet in the stone courtyard 5 meters below. My first thought was that he would take flight in dragon form, pursuing the Shadow Lord in a desperate effort to bring him down. My heart fell at the hopelessness of the circumstance…and my mind refused to consider its consequences.
The next moments moved as if I were dreaming them; and dream them I ever shall as they lay seared within my memory. For Darius alone saw what must be done – the only action left to us to alter the tragedy unfolding before us. He turned to his right, where stood one of Carandon’s best archers; and grasped the bow and seated arrow that the archer held in readiness there. He looked up, taking careful aim at the receding forms of Nargoroth and Elëanesse…his gaze fixed, and his arm steady. The archer objected, saying: “Lord Darius…it is for naught. This beast’s scales defeat our arrows, and all that we might do is bring harm to the Lady.” But Darius held his aim, unmoved by the protest; and I saw, at once, what he meant to do. I closed my eyes…said a silent prayer for mercy…and slowly nodded my head in assent.
It was as if Darius saw my signal…though I knew he had not. He did what he must, in full knowledge of the damnable nature of the act…and its inevitability. He squinted, adjusted his aim…and unleashed the arrow at the fleeing demon and his prey. I watched it fly, with clarity afforded to only the far-seeing elves and dragons. Sight that was so often a blessing was now a curse; for I watched as the arrow flew straight and true to its mark. It took Elëanesse high upon her left breast, piercing the white linen blouse just below the neckline. I watched the sudden blossom of blood that covered her, and saw her slump within the demon’s steely grip. I averted my eyes, knowing that I had seen all I must; and that my eyes had told me that my beloved cousin had died both quickly and without pain – a blessing compared to the thousand deaths she might have endured in the custody of the Shadow Lord. I heard Nargoroth’s wild, enraged howl cover the distance to us; and thought, for a moment, that he might turn in his fury to strike at those who had deprived him of his prize. I glanced up, just in time to see him release his now lifeless burden; and watched her body fall, tumbling through the air toward the earth. The Shadow Lord hesitated, looked back…and then turned and flew off into the distance.
My eyes returned to the courtyard below. Darius stood, his shoulders slumping and his arms hanging slackly by his sides. The elven bow clattered to the ground. My Guardian turned and looked upward, at my window; and I felt a wave of sadness wash over me as I looked into his vacant, tormented eyes. I thought of the many times his eyes had looked upon me – ever watchful, protective; sometimes curious; always with warmth…occasionally, even, with mirth. How it saddened me to see them now.
His head sagged…the onyx hair hanging lankly over his face, shielding it from me. He turned, pushing forward through the stunned and silent crowd gathered there. I watched the assembly part as he neared, clearing a path – as if in reverence, or fear of being infected by whatever ailment held him. The mass of people closed behind him as he trudged away; and too soon he was lost from my sight.
**********************
A letter from Darius to Comet, Queen of the Sylvan North, found tucked behind the final pages of her journal:
3 August 901
Dearest Comet – My ward, my companion…and ever my Queen:
I have lived for almost four millennia, and for most of those days have walked the pathways of this world in silent isolation. I have been known by many names; and have plied many trades...most of which I shall ever regard with shame. Many people have crossed my path - some for their good, but most for ill; and the violence visited upon the latter has doomed me to a lifetime of seeking redemption. But that which I am, and that which I will ever be first and foremost, is Guardian, Poet and Friend to you – my beloved Queen.
It was you, above all, who defined Darius. You alone have seen and drawn the best from me. You are my faithful guide on the road to salvation...my strength in times when my own fails me...my star to steer by when the world goes dark. My Fate has been bound to you – once, by the office bestowed on me by a King; now and ever more by my devotion to you. Naught that may happen will ever stay me from that end. In the absence of that commitment, all other reason for being flees.
I have lived long and seen much…too much, perhaps. The blood which has too often stained these hands colors my very soul. The lifeblood of the innocents – Elëanesse among them, and certainly not alone – has contributed its mark, indelibly. So great the time…so many battles…so much death.
The great war we have long feared is now upon us. The young warriors from all the peoples called to the Alliance now rally to the cause. Malikith and Loren…Sapphire, Topher, Lord Obadiah…Carandon and the other leaders of the Alliance armies…now stand by your side. Their blood is up, as it should be; for the art of war has ever relied upon the young of arm, and the young at heart. For me, I no longer have the stomach for the fight. My heart seeks the peace and solitude long denied it; and to sharpen the skills of the pen that might now fit these old hands better than a sword.
Your father commissioned me to this office, as your Guardian, in the hope I might somehow deliver you to this day – when you could look upon the field and summon all the People of the Sylvan North to do for right what must be done. I pray that I have not been unfaithful to that charge; and that the day is soon to be upon us that you, the Even’Star, will stand victorious as the Shadow falls away before you. The faithful leaders of your armies, and all the valorous who follow them, will see it done – and in their actions is the need for my own diminished.
I wear, still, the ring of my office. I bear it in fidelity to your father; in the honor of your mother; and as a symbol of my undying devotion to you. When at last I surrender this mortal coil, then might it be returned to you; but until that day, I swear again my undying oath to protect the heir to Eyrturheru whene’er her need is great. Only call, and I will come to you…for I am ever near.
Amin naa tualle, ilyamenie…Mellonamin…Arwenamin… A’maelamin…
D
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